


The last judgment

by MyLadyDay



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Artist Marco, Brothels, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Mutual Pining, Nudity, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Rating May Change, Renaissance Era, Venezia | Venice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:43:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8462311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLadyDay/pseuds/MyLadyDay
Summary: It was tiring, dealing with the temptation that was Ace and the fact that it was dangerous, toeing the line between wanting him and imagining that Ace wanted him in the same way as well.





	1. Night and Day

**Author's Note:**

> Despite working on finishing this story as it was written before, my inspiration for it was completely gone and it was mostly due to the fact I started it back when I still shipped Zosan enough to write it. In the interest of actually finishing this because it's one of my fav ideas, I've taken the story down to remove the Zosan parts and edit/rewrite the rest so it's a Marco/Ace story with a side of Thatch/Izou. It was obvious from the previous version that I favored Marco/Ace and I doubt anyone was here for the Zosan. The story will be finished the way it is now.
> 
> Entire story is beta'd by Aerle

Izou woke to the sound of knocking at his door, like every other morning. It was routine already, for him to be woken late in the morning by someone bearing breakfast from the kitchens. He barely had any duties in the mornings, anyway, with most of his business being conducted in the evenings and throughout the night.

“Come in,” he said, most likely not loud enough to actually be heard, but it didn’t matter. Whoever it was already knew to come in anyway.

“Good morning,” Atmos said, carrying a platter in one hand. “It’s freezing in here,” he said a moment later, when the door was closed and he was walking towards Izou’s bed. “Do you not stoke the fire at all before you go to sleep?”

“Don’t I have all of you to do it for me?” he asked just as Atmos set down the platter on the bed next to him, but his words were more joking than serious. Atmos just snorted in reply, already moving towards the fireplace to start a fire where the last one had died out far too long ago.

Izou wasn’t sure whether it had still been burning when he’d gone to bed or not. For someone who stopped taking customers a decade ago, he stayed up far too long to his liking.

“The Red Force docked this morning,” Atmos said, his back turned to Izou. “Trafalgar ran into Red at the market. He says the Moby should be here in a day or so as well.”

“Tonight is going to be busy, then,” Izou replied, glancing down at the platter before picking up the cup of tea and sipping from it to warm himself a little. The room really was too cold. “Tomorrow too, from the sound of it.”

His attention stayed on the neatly wrapped parcel resting on the platter, next to his food.

“Do we let them all in?” Atmos asked, turning around only when there was a small fire slowly coming to life in the fireplace. “None of us want a repeat of last time.”

Izou grimaced, almost too tired for the rage he was feeling at the reminder of that particular incident. No matter how many guards he had, all men he had known and trusted for as long as he’d been in charge of the palace, there was still an incident every once in awhile that Izou really prefered not to think about. That last one, when a sailor from the Red Force thought he was entitled to doing anything he wanted to the woman whose company he was paying for, was all too reminiscent of how things in the palace worked before Izou took over.

“You and Jozu take the shift at the gates tonight,” he said, after taking a deep breath. “You both know who isn’t allowed in anymore.”

His voice was grim, but he didn’t hide it; Atmos had been there for longer than Izou and he must have known all too well what the whole incident would remind Izou of. But they didn’t speak of that, and Izou wasn’t in the mood to bring it up.

“Is this for me?” he asked instead, still looking at the parcel. It was childish of him, avoiding Atmos’ gaze to stop him from pursuing the subject, even though they’d been through thick and thin together, but it had been ten years already and Izou was intent on letting some things rest in peace.

“Of course,” Atmos said with a sigh, undoubtedly aware what Izou was doing, but not willing to call him out on it. “Red sent that for you, probably as an apology for last time,” he said.

“He already apologized,” Izou said, taking another sip of his tea. “And it wasn’t his fault to begin with.”

“Just open it,” Atmos told him with a huff. “I’m going to talk to Jozu and the rest of the guards so they know to be careful tonight.”

“Let everyone else know as well,” Izou said, finally snapping his gaze from the package and looking at Atmos. “They should know I expect them to protect themselves first and foremost. I want you to intervene at the smallest sign of trouble.”

Atmos nodded and then he was out the door, leaving Izou alone with his breakfast. He couldn’t say he had much of an appetite, now that he thought of that last time when one of the people he was meant to protect ended up hurt.

Still, that didn’t stop him from being curious about what Shanks might have considered a good apology present.

Carefully, Izou set his cup down before unwrapping the parcel carefully. It was soft in his hands, obviously containing fabric of some kind, but Izou couldn’t stop the almost childish glee he felt for a moment until he removed the paper to reveal purple silk with gold thread embroidery in the middle. After carefully unfolding it, Izou recognized it as a tunic with the gold thread decorating the collar and the sleeves.

It was beautiful, but what made him smile was the fact that Shanks still knew him that well, going so far as to remembering his favorite color. Izou himself couldn’t remember how that even came up between them that Shanks would know. But it was enough to distract Izou from what he and Atmos spoke about, to the point where he was feeling good enough to think of the upcoming carnival.

The city had been preparing for several days now, though Izou hadn’t started anything in the palace just yet. It was as good a time as any, and he had plans to make, both for himself and a surprise for Marco as was their tradition at this point. Now genuinely looking forward to the day ahead, Izou finished his tea and got out of bed, choosing to focus on making at least someone happy instead of thinking of just how truly alone he was.

* * *

The servant set down a heavy crystal cup on the small side table next to Marco before pouring red wine into it, the sound drowned out by the voices of Roger and Ace arguing just a short distance away. The servant fled the room just as soundlessly, not that he could even be loud enough to draw attention with this much yelling around them. As if Ace and Roger were even paying attention to anything else, anyway.

Marco, for his part, remained seated and completely silent, focusing on anything but the words being said, having heard them all before in situations much like this one. The two fought more lately than they had ever before and it was concerning, to a degree, but his attention strayed to Ace’s enraged face and the train of thought was gone just as abruptly as it had appeared, his fingers suddenly itching for a piece of paper and some charcoal.

It was far from the first time he’d been forced to contain the urge to draw Ace. His face was alight with emotion as he shouted, almost blinding Marco with the intensity of his expression.

Barely a moment later, Marco forced himself to look away, aware he’d already been looking too long, with too much focus. Not so different from the other times he’d looked at Ace and that was a problem all in itself. He wasn’t supposed to look like that, not when Ace might catch him and take it for a weakness he might exploit.

No matter how much Marco pretended otherwise, that is exactly what it was, a weakness he was having a hard time keeping hidden in the face of everything Ace threw at him, whether intentionally or just by being himself. Marco had weathered that storm for years already and he was afraid it might have worn him down, mostly in moments like these when Ace had no idea he was being watched. When the mask he usually wore wasn’t in place and Marco could catch a glimpse of him the way he was, brilliant and full of emotion.

Even if it was in the midst of an argument with his father.

At last, with a knock on the door, the two quieted and turned towards Marco as if seeing him for the first time. He did his best to ignore whatever it was that flickered across Ace’s face before it turned to an expression of carefree joy, with the bright smile that Marco had long since known was fake.

“Come in,” Roger said loudly, glancing at Ace only briefly before he sat down behind his desk as if nothing had happened. “We’ll continue this later,” he added a moment later, lower and obviously only meant for Ace.

Ace glanced at Roger with a glare, but said nothing at being dismissed like that, all too used to things playing out like this. As far as Marco knew, all their fights and arguments ended like this and, despite Roger saying they would continue it later, they never seemed to.

“ _Maestro*_ Sanji,” the servant at the door announced, breaking the tension in the room. Marco couldn’t blame him for looking utterly nervous while doing so.

The servant stepped aside to let Sanji pass, and Marco couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his former student, now a master painter of his own. They hadn’t spoken in far too long, despite living in the same city and moving in the same circles.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Ace said politely, nodding at Sanji in greeting, “I’ll leave you to your business.”

He spared a glance at Marco, with a small smile that at least seemed a bit more genuine before he disappeared out the door. Immediately, Roger turned to the two of them, dismissing the servant as well before standing from his chair. Roger’s mood was obviously soured by the argument with Ace, Marco could tell, knowing some of Roger’s tells after all those years, and he knew he could at least count on this meeting being a short one.

“It is an honor to be invited into your home, Lord Portgas,” Sanji said with small bow, standing near the door.

“No, it is my pleasure to have you here, young _maestro_ ,” came the reply, offered with a smile and an incline of Roger’s head. Despite the turn for the worse in his mood, Roger still looked put together and completely at ease. Sanji obviously suspected nothing and Marco could admit he was almost fooled as well.

“Please, have a seat. I believe you know my friend, the Bavarese**,” Roger said with a nod towards Marco, offering the chair next to Marco to Sanji before taking a seat opposite both of his guests.

“We’ve known each other for quite some time,” Marco said, speaking for the first time since he’d walked into Roger’s study, “since Sanji studied in my workshop for a while shortly before I stopped painting. When I did, Master Zeff took him on as his sole apprentice.”

Roger nodded thoughtfully as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, I have a busy day so I would like to discuss the reason I called for you,” he said, stopping the pleasantries before they could develop into small talk, and turned to Sanji. “As you may know, Marco has been working as the family artist for years now and he has recently built a villa in Verona for me,” he continued without taking a pause long enough for someone to interrupt. Not that either of them would dare. “He will also be responsible for the sculpted decorations, but I would like to entrust the making of the _fresco_ decorations to you.”

It had been seven years since Marco had started working for the Portgas family, seven long years and not once had he been asked to hire outside help. It was, perhaps, slightly distressing when he was asked to find a painter for the major _fresco_ decorations and wall paintings. Yes, he had worked for him for a long time, but Roger was hardly a sentimental man and wouldn’t even dwell on the prospect of replacing anyone who wasn’t of immediate importance to him.

What Marco struggled to understand, to his great annoyance, was why he would be considered for replacement. Briefly, he was struck with fear that perhaps he’d been too obvious about his feelings for Ace, but immediately after, he banished the thought, knowing he’d been careful not to keep his gaze on Ace for too long at a time. The decision was even more confusing with the commission of the sculpture of David he had been reminded of. Surely, Roger wouldn’t make him finish the sculpture if he was planning on finding another artist to work for the family in Marco’s place.

The whole thing might not have been as bad as he imagined, though, since Marco himself was given the task of choosing the artist he would be working with. Whether he was choosing his own permanent replacement or not was hard to tell at the moment.

“Of course, it would be my pleasure,” Sanji said with another bow of his head. Marco watched his face with rapt attention, noticing the slight downturn of his lips and the barely noticeable furrow in his brow. He knew what was going through Sanji’s head without a doubt, Roger was a man with a terrifying reputation and refusing something he wished for wasn’t an option. Marco could sympathize, knowing Sanji would be half driven with fear to accept this commission, but there was no one else other than Sanji skilled enough to take on this job on such short notice.

“I am very pleased with your answer, _maestro_ , as I am sure I will be thrilled by the works you produce. I have heard only the best about your work,” Roger spoke, his hand motioning in Marco’s general direction. “Mostly from dear Marco, of course,” he added with a smile that was more terrifying than kind.

“Well, he was my finest student, after all,” Marco replied with a smirk, remembering all those years ago when Sanji had all but stumbled into his workshop, barely sixteen at the time. He’d had nothing but the clothes on his back and his skills with a brush to his name, reminding Marco so much of himself back when he’d first came to Venice that it was impossible for him to turn Sanji away. Usopp was the one to lead Sanji to Marco, and Marco was glad that Sanji had met Usopp before the city could sink its claws into him and drag him down a path where he wouldn’t be able to follow his dreams.

Sanji turned towards him with a smile, nodding in thanks for the compliment and looking more at ease than he had a moment earlier.

“As for the commissions themselves, I won’t go into detail. Marco knows exactly what I want, and the costs for supplies will be handled by my son,” Roger said with a sense of finality in his voice. Marco was momentarily surprised by Ace’s involvement, though, knowing Roger rarely let him handle anything of importance.

The audience, however, was obviously over ,and they sat waiting for their dismissal.

“Before you go, Marco, I would like to remind you that I want the statue for the inner courtyard finished as soon as possible,” Roger added before standing from his seat. His so called reminder had a somewhat threatening tone to it, enough to make Marco’s skin prickle with discomfort.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said as they both stood as well, obviously dismissed as Roger turned his attention away from them.

Marco and Sanji left the room without a word more than necessary, and Marco could tell the relief he was feeling was shared with Sanji. Sanji was, in all honesty, holding himself better than most men after a meeting with Roger, and that spoke volumes about him and his strength of character.

Due to this, Marco knew without a doubt that he would not come to regret picking Sanji out of all the painters in the city after knowing him for as long as he did. Despite his reputation as a womanizer, Sanji also had a reputation as one of the best rising artists in the region and as such would profit greatly from a commission for the biggest patrons of art in Venice and the surrounding area.

As they sat in Roger’s _studiolo_ , though, Marco couldn’t help but worry for a fleeting second. Certain things and people had become a constant in his life after he had accepted the position of the official family architect and artist, whether he liked to admit it or not. Terminating his employment would certainly affect his life greatly, in more aspects than just a financial one, which would be a great blow all in itself.

He hadn’t been expecting a refusal on Sanji’s part, however, even if he looked like he wasn’t completely pleased with the way things went in the meeting. Marco had learned the hard way that refusing Roger was in no one’s best interest and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Sanji knew the same. It was something many people had the displeasure of learning.

With that in mind and because he was the official artist employed by the family, Marco could not refuse Roger’s commission for a sculpture of David to be displayed in the inner courtyard of the family’s town palace even if he wanted to. The deadline was far too close for comfort, and he had difficulties finding a model that would be of satisfying appearance. After all, he was expected to surpass the famous David from Florence and he couldn’t do it without a proper model.

By the time they walked out of the palace and into the main square, Marco had felt more determined than ever to finally choose someone to pose for him. He would have to, at any rate, if he wanted to finish the sculpture in time. If not, he would most likely get replaced, if that wasn’t the plan already. At the moment, he was certain of nothing.

“Come to my workshop tomorrow, and we will go though the plans for everything,” he said to Sanji, trying to distract himself from the problem at hand.

Sanji looked at him and nodded in agreement. “When do we start?” he asked. “The information I was given was awfully scant.”

“The major construction will be done in a week. You can start on the walls then,” Marco replied without looking at him this time. “I trust that’s enough time to find all the supplies.”

It was far less time than was customary to give an artist to prepare for a commission of this scale, but Marco did nothing to point it out. Sanji undoubtedly knew it already, and there was nothing they could do to change what they were given. That too was something Marco had learned while employed by Roger and had gotten used to it long ago.

Sanji nodded again, obviously already making a mental tally of what he might need for the job. If Marco was not mistaken, the Red Force had just made port from their route in the East. They always carried the best pigments, as Sanji should know by now, and acquiring some would pose no problem at least. Marco didn’t need to point out that only the best and finest was worthy of the most powerful man in Venice.

“I will see you tomorrow. I trust you remember where to go. Bring a list of supplies you need so my assistants can gather it all and have it shipped to the villa,” he said as he fixed the light blue hat on his head. “Give my best to that long-nosed friend of yours,” Marco added with a smirk before walking off into the crowd, smiling at the sound of laughter from Sanji.

Marco walked through the square paying no mind to the glances cast his way or the multitude of people decorating the city for the carnival that was only days away. Long since had he stopped caring about them as he found how fickle and shallow most of the people in the city were. With nothing but looks and the latest fashions in mind, most of them craved only attention and fame. Which was everything he had wanted, everything that drove him to the city his father had called a lair of immorality and corruption. In a city that valued good looks more than anything, finding a perfect model should have been easy, but Marco put the bar fairly high for what should have been his best work.

Walking through familiar streets, he briefly considered the possibility of visiting Izou and seeing if he had anyone who fit the description he was looking for, but dismissed the idea as soon as it came to him. He already knew what Izou would say and whom he’d suggest as the perfect model, and Marco was intent on avoiding that conversation. Still, if none of the apprentices found anyone, Izou’s establishment was exactly where he would have to go. Marco sighed as he made peace with what was apparently his final option, but still prayed that someone, no matter who, found a decent looking man to take the role of his David.

The walk was fairly short, and the ruckus on the street couldn’t begin to compare to the bustle of his home. The workshop stretched over the entire ground floor of the house and, even while it was a fairly large space in normal circumstances, it was crowded by numerous finished as well as unfinished sculptures, tools and a select few of Marco’s apprentices. He could see a customer or two inspecting their almost finished commissions and the nervous apprentices who were unlucky enough to have to deal with them.

He walked through the workstations and checked up on each of the artists in training under his care. Most of them were new, only working on preparing the blocks of stone or sharpening his tools, but the ones that were with him longer or showed a more prominent talent worked on the smaller details of Marco’s almost finished sculptures. It was a regular working day, to say the least, but Marco found himself more nervous than he had been in a long while. The whole trouble with the damned David sculpture was grating on his nerves more than he would like to admit, feeling the pressure of possibly falling out of Roger’s graces. He was hardly sentimental, just like the old lord himself, but he would probably have to leave the city to look for a new employer. He was, in his own opinion, too old for that.

Lately, he was finding himself too old for a lot of things. Old, though, wasn’t the right word. Tired was closer to the truth.

Marco finally reached Haruta, the apprentice that had been with him the longest, and admired the astonishing work for a moment. Haruta was the only one allowed to work on more important pieces, and Marco was sure he would be able to take on commissions by himself fairly soon.

“ _Maestro_ , you’re back,” Haruta said, cutting off Marco’s musings about his future success. “You have a model waiting for you in your studio,” he added and Marco stared in surprise.

“You found me a model?” he asked, not in the least bit ashamed of the relief in his voice. “For the David?” The relief was washing over him as a smile made its way on his face, the day’s worries melting away now that some of the pressure was eased.

“No, I was looking for one, but I gave up since you obviously found someone,” Haruta replied as Marco’s face turned to one of confusion. Dread was starting to grip his insides and he couldn’t explain why. “You can finally start now,” Haruta finished with a grin, as excited as Marco had been a moment ago.

Marco was relieved, of course, but still no less confused as he certainly did not find someone and he had a bad feeling about it. He had struggled with finding someone to his liking for far too long before passing the task to the first poor soul he could foist it on. Haruta was right, however, he could finally start and maybe salvage the situation before it escalated to a point of no return. Deciding that the solution to his problem was heaven sent, Marco opted for starting on his sculpture before anything else went wrong, ignoring the feeling that he wouldn’t like what he found in his studio.

“I’m going to go work, then. You take care of things here,” Marco said before taking his leave.

He had his own studio in the workshop, a separate room where he used to paint before he’d given that up completely, using it only for making sketches once the workshop grew, but mostly retreated there when he wanted solitude these days, which was starting to happen more often. It was smaller and cleaner than the main workshop room, also more comfortable with an amazing amount of pillows dressed in the finest silks littering one corner where his models used to recline while posing for his paintings.

His books lined one of the walls, covering it from floor to ceiling thanks to a certain merchant who brought them whenever he docked in Venice. The wall opposite the heap of pillows, however, was pierced with multiple windows, letting the bright light fall onto the body he would paint. He missed painting at times, but his art had grown beyond the flat surface of a canvas, and he could no longer show it in such a way. His works grew in size, interacting with the space around them and becoming part of it. He didn’t create, he liberated the works of art from the marble they were captured in***.

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to think about who could be waiting for him, certain that somewhere deep down, he knew who he would find. Marco opened the door and let his gaze wander over the well known room, the light filtering through the windows bright and almost blinding at first, giving the room a celestial glow, making the expensive fabrics and furniture shine brighter than usual.

The light fell heavily on the expanse of pillows and the male figure clad in a simple white shirt reclining on the soft surface. Marco would know him anywhere, even if they hadn’t seen each other only an hour earlier, from his black hair framing the freckled face decorated with a smile, both innocent and devious at the same time, to the small family crest shining from the ring on his finger. Marco’s heart clenched at the sight, and his chest filled with a panic he had grown accustomed to. Hastily, he entered the room even as he was compelled to run away as far as he could, and closed the door behind him, bolting it shut out of fear of someone finding this particular man, out of every other in Venice, practically naked in his studio.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said at last, his eyes fixated on the man he could call nothing else but the bane of his existence. The young man whose smile could shine as bright as the summer sun, yet he was like a furious storm to Marco. He had spent years evading the devastation he was sure would catch up with him eventually. He had never been more certain that it was approaching at a mortifying speed, ready to overwhelm him, and he knew he would not be able to fight it any longer once it hit.

A pair of eyes as dark as the night were observing him with undivided attention, the smile never falling from Ace’s face. He remained sprawled out on the soft colorful pillows, neither moving nor speaking as Marco stood by the door, waiting for something to leave those lips.

Still, he couldn’t let it remain the way it was and he spoke again.

“Why are you here, Ace?” he asked with a sigh. He didn’t ask whether Ace was alright after the fight, knowing that line of conversation wouldn’t end well.

Marco’s mask of indifference was as prominent as ever, but he didn’t doubt for a second that Ace knew every single thought that went through his head just by looking at him. It certainly seemed like he was capable of that as of late.

“You need a model for your sculpture,” Ace replied as if they were discussing the weather, as if he hadn’t stormed over here after his argument with Roger. “So I humbly offer my services,” he added, his eyes never leaving the carefully constructed bored looking expression on Marco’s face as he slowly leaned forward, the shirt gliding over his chest.

Marco knew Ace was aware of the consequences of his own actions and he knew Ace was, as countless times before, doing it on purpose. Marco’s resolve to keep away was slowly crumbling with each smile and meaningful glance Ace sent his way in rooms that were far too crowded and it was something that happened far too often. Marco couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to him earlier that Roger might have noticed at some point as well. When it had crossed his mind earlier in Roger’s study, it was nothing more than an insignificant paranoid thought, but somehow it felt more real with Ace here with him.

“You can’t be here,” Marco said, wincing at the despair he could hear in his voice.

It was tiring, dealing with the temptation that was Ace and the fact that it was dangerous, toeing the line between wanting him and imagining that Ace wanted him in the same way as well. Of course, Ace wasn’t dangerous in the way his father was, but Roger would hardly react kindly to knowing his son had his eyes set on an employee, and a man, no less. It didn’t matter whether Ace was only doing it for fun or not.

The fact Marco barely restrained himself from giving into Ace’s attempts would be received in an even more deadly manner. He had enough sense to ignore these advances and pretend they were not real, but it could not and would not go on forever, he could either give in, and Ace might lose his interest after getting what he wanted, or Roger might find out and deal with him the way he dealt with all of his enemies. Either of those would leave him ruined and he knew it, the difference was simply in whether he would be tainted emotionally or found floating dead in a canal.

He barely noticed when Ace finally rose from his place in the pillows and moved towards him, but he did acknowledge it in time to move backward and away. Ace seemed to notice and stopped, and Marco couldn’t decide whether he was thankful for it or not. Standing in front of him in nothing but a pristine white shirt, Ace was directly in the path of the still bright sunlight. The light easily went through the thin fabric and revealed to Marco everything that lay beneath. It seemed accidental enough, but he wouldn’t put anything past Ace, not anymore.

As Marco stared, transfixed at the almost naked body in front of him, he realized that Ace was indeed the perfect model for his sculpture. He also became aware that he would never again be able to look at Ace without an overwhelming urge to touch. After this, they clearly passed a line that could never be brought back. Marco could no longer ignore the obvious cries for attention directed his way, not with them being alone in a locked room, nor could he push Ace away completely.

“You need me,” Ace said with a soft expression and a genuine smile, unaware just how true his words rang in more ways than he thought. “Your apprentice told me your deadline is close, and you cannot find someone to pose. So I am here,” he said and attempted to approach Marco once again, but a hitch in Marco’s breath made him stop before he even moved properly. A flicker of something that looked like remorse to Marco passed across Ace’s face, but it was gone before he could be sure and was replaced by the same soft smile.

“I’m here to help,” Ace continued, and his voice held such tenderness, Marco could hardly say no to a request uttered in such a way, even if he knew it was almost the same as signing his own death sentence. Before he realized what he was doing, Marco found himself retrieving several papers from the desk by the wall behind him and a stick of charcoal.

“If you’re certain,” he said to Ace and sat down on his chair that still faced the empty easel, doing his best not to let his nerves show. “You have to do as I say and try not to move,” he started his instructions and paused for a short moment as Ace nodded excitedly. “Stand like that so I can sketch you first,” he continued and noticed with a smirk how Ace stiffened at the words with an expression of pure concentration on his face. Quickly, he fastened a piece of paper to his small drawing board and turned his attention to the model. That’s what Ace was, just a model, Marco tried to convince himself, and he knew it would be best if he stayed professional.

Only the did he notice, though, that he was given permission to stare at Ace without shame or the need to hide his gaze, all the while knowing this would most likely be his undoing. He took a long moment to gaze over the entirety of Ace’s body, taking in every bit of muscle he could. The light was bright enough for him to see through the shirt, but the fabric still gave an air of mystery to the toned body as a whole, and Marco started drawing. With a slight bout of shame, he admitted to himself that the first sketch was more to satisfy his constant urge to draw Ace than for the sculpture itself as he had no intention of breaking tradition and sculpting David dressed in anything except perhaps armor.

His strokes were steady and fast, but light on the surface of the fragile paper as he marked the firm muscles and curves that lay barely hidden under white fabric. He glanced up at the face he wasn’t supposed to sketch, but decided to do so anyway and was met with those damned dark eyes that would haunt him until the day he died. Focusing on the face as a whole rather than just the eyes, Marco continued his drawing, making quick work of the features he already knew by heart. He rose from his chair and walked around his model to draw him from every angle. No longer focusing on the drawing as he had, he let his eyes wander; Ace could not see him staring, and he took advantage of the fact with a fair amount of shame.

Alas, he could not do it forever. He walked back to his chair and took another piece of paper, replacing the new sketch with it on the board. Ace was silent, waiting for further instructions, and Marco prayed his will was strong enough for the next step in the process.

“Take the shirt off,” he finally muttered, trying not to look at Ace, but he still noticed the look of surprise.

It almost made him laugh that the person who had been trying to seduce him for years at this point was in front of him, removing the last piece of clothing from his body with a dark blush firmly in place. Marco could not say he had expected Ace to be shy after all the years and all the attempts at seduction, not now that he finally had a chance to be naked in front of Marco. It was oddly innocent of him, something Marco had only seen in Ace when Ace thought no one was looking.

Ace did as he was told after the surprise subsided, but the blush was still present as he stood completely bare under Marco’s gaze. Marco smiled as he looked into the stormy eyes and approached where Ace stood, finally steeling himself to treat Ace as he would treat any other model. His hand shook the tiniest bit as he walked behind Ace’s slightly smaller stature, before touching him at last. He felt Ace shiver at the touch, but neither spoke, and he simply resumed moving Ace’s body into the pose he had wanted. Marco tried his best to keep the contact to a minimum, but it still sent waves of shivers through his body as his fingertips moved across skin that could easily be compared to the valuable silk that Ace rested on only a short while before.

Reluctantly, he let go and stepped back to observe what he had done. Ace stood with one of his hands lifted, pointing into the distance while the other rested by his side, the forearm lifted and the hand outstretched where it would hold a slingshot. His balance was on his right leg, highlighting his hip and leaving the other leg lazily bent next to the straight right one. The muscles on his back were more prominent than before, making the curves more visible. Slowly, Marco walked around Ace, his eyes never leaving Ace’s body as he glanced over every little detail. With Ace’s back completely straight, his abdominal muscles were stretched out and perfect, leaving Marco with an urge to touch, much stronger than ever before. Still, he restrained himself and remained professional, moving along to check if every muscle was as perfect as it should have been.

Of course they were, he found as he finally finished the circle around Ace’s still body and stopped at his starting point behind Ace’s back. He sighed in frustration; accepting this offer was a stupid decision, one he would most likely come to regret eventually, but it was too late to back out. He didn’t have time to find another model and he was painfully aware that he could never find someone as perfect as Ace. It was meant in regards to the model for the sculpture, but he couldn’t help but think this perfection was just that in every possible regard.

Shaking his head to rid himself of such troublesome thoughts, Marco walked back to the chair and started drawing without a word. It would be hard for Ace to stay in that position for very long, and he needed a few sketches, one from each side, to completely capture the pose. The room was steadily growing darker, but he did not really notice as he focused on what was in front of him.

Marco was drawing the final sketch, one from Ace’s left side, when he finally noticed one of Ace’s arms shake. Snapping out of his focus, he realized it was no longer bright in the room. He quickly finished the sketch, one he could easily do without, and grasped Ace’s hand to lower it without thinking about what he was doing.

“Do you always draw in the dark?” Ace broke the silence after what felt like ages of neither of them speaking. “I always thought artists adored the sunlight with a burning passion,” he added with a smile, directing his gaze towards Marco’s eyes which were a stark contrast to Ace’s dark ones.

“I am no longer a painter,” Marco replied lightly, as he walked to the easel where his numerous sketches lay. “The sunlight is not important for my art anymore, and I’ve learned how to create without it,” he said, realizing how saddening that might sound to a person that adored the warmth of the sun.

“Of course you have,” Ace said, the smile on his face somewhat oddly sad. “That doesn’t mean you can live without the sun,” he continued, voice soft and full of melancholy that Marco feared he’d missed something in their conversation, no matter how brief it was.

Yet Marco couldn’t help but think of all the times he had compared Ace to the sun because of how brightly he shone and warmed everything in sight, a constant in his own life, no matter how he claimed otherwise. His statement may have been true in terms of his art, but if he talked about Ace as if he were the sun, he couldn’t imagine a life without him. He had lived alone for longer than he remembered, without needing anyone else, whether it be family or a constant lover, a woman he could possibly marry and start a family to replace the one he had left behind ages ago.

“I am all that I believe in and all that I could possibly need to continue my life,” he finally replied with a playful smile on his face, one that showed he was possibly joking, but also marked the end of the conversation before Ace realized he was just trying to convince himself everything would be fine even if Roger replaced him. Before Ace could continue in the dark direction the discussion was going, Marco spoke again.

“As you said, it is too dark already,” Marco said. “You should get dressed before you catch a cold,” he added, seemingly reminding Ace that he was indeed still naked. Somehow, he managed to forget for a moment. Even if it seemed redundant, Marco turned out of courtesy while Ace dressed himself in the clothes that he must have left somewhere underneath the pillows.

“It doesn’t suit you to talk like my father,” Ace said from somewhere behind him. “You’re far too young for that.”

Marco chuckled this time, painfully aware of the sensitive subject that was the age difference between them, but the way Ace spoke seemed far too light and amusing.

“I don’t speak like your father,” Marco said with a smile, wanting to say more on the matter because the eight years between him and Ace were still a far smaller age difference than that between Marco and Roger, but Ace cut him off before he could say anything.

“Yes, he never showed concern for my health,” he mused, speaking in a manner that could not be called resentful, but it wasn’t as lighthearted as Ace had probably intended it to be. “But I would rather not talk of my father. When do you leave for Verona?” Ace changed the subject without waiting for a comment, his voice suddenly closer than it had been mere moments before, eliciting a flinch of surprise from Marco.

“In a week,” Marco replied, turning to Ace, not wanting to leave his back exposed. As if Ace was a danger to him.

Well, he was in a way, but not in a manner that required Marco to watch his back.

“You’re going to miss the carnival!” Ace exclaimed as if it were the greatest injustice in the world, to which Marco simply smiled again. He could tell it was a sad smile this time. He didn’t grieve for the carnival, though, but for the fact he wouldn’t get a chance to spend it in Ace’s presence for once.

“I will be here for the first few days, but I doubt I will occupy myself with it for more than just the first night,” he said, knowing that his days of indecent adventures under intricate masks were long over. Mostly because he held no interest in enjoying the company of strangers under masks as he had years before. Not that it stopped Izou from trying to make it happen.

Ace shared a smile with him, seemingly innocent, but Marco could have sworn it held something else as well. “I will, perhaps, see you on the first night, then,” Ace said and, finally completely dressed, walked to the door to unbolt it with ease, his demeanor changing to something more fake, like the usual mask he wore in front of people.

“Good night, _maestro_.”

With that he was gone, leaving Marco alone in the ever darkening room, already wondering if he had imagined it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title are two sculptures by Michelangelo on the tomb of Giuliano de Medici.  
> * master - mostly used for painters that owned their own workshops  
> * * meaning Bavarian (which makes Marco German)  
> * * * Michelangelo's description of his work in marble


	2. Sacra Conversazione*

It was still surprisingly early in the morning when Sanji showed up at the workshop. Marco couldn’t say he’d been expecting it, knowing Sanji’s habits of sleeping in and rising well in the afternoon at times, sleeping right through the hours with the most natural light. He couldn’t have imagined Zeff standing for it when he’d been teaching Sanji, but it did bring back memories of the days he was the one to get annoyed over Sanji’s sleep schedule and the point when he’d decided it just wasn’t worth the annoyance. 

He was grateful for the punctuality, though, as he’d had a long day ahead and he knew he’d need to prepare for the hours he was going to spend with Ace again. His hopes that it would go better than the day before were almost nonexistent at this point. Finishing this sculpture would be a challenge, to say the least, and Marco knew it, but he had no idea it would be because of Ace.

Those weren’t thoughts that should occupy him at the moment, though, and he knew it. There was too much to focus on, the meeting with Sanji was important and required his full and undivided attention. The last thing he needed was making a mistake in finishing the villa for Roger, especially when he was so late with the David. 

It almost came as a relief when there was a knock on the door of his work room, snapping him out of his thoughts. Once they started straying towards Ace, Marco knew the consequences of the sleepless night he’d had would start catching up with him. He was more than aware that there were bags under his eyes, and those were probably the least of his problems.  

“Sanji,” Marco said  as he opened the door , lowering his head in greeting as he once again schooled his features into the usual stoic mask, “I was not expecting you this early.” 

He let the corner of his mouth curl into a smirk, teasing for Sanji’s habit of sleeping too long, a cardinal sin for an artist because of all the daylight lost. Sanji saw the ruse for what it was  without a doubt , an attempt to distract him from the exhausted look on Marco’s face,  and for once he obliged, changing the subject instead of pursuing this .

“Perhaps it means I am growing old,” Sanji replied smoothly. “After all, rising early seems to be easier for you old masters.” He mirrored the smirk Marco showed him, before smiling fully as Marco let out a laugh. Marco  stepped aside to let Sanji pass, looking out at the workshop with a certain degree of paranoia, as if Ace was going to just show up, wearing nothing but a smile, just to tempt him.

“Come inside, we have matters to discuss,”  he said, his voice sounding strained even to him. 

Sanji acknowledged the invitation with a nod, entering the room he’d only ever been inside of perhaps half a dozen times over a decade ago.  Marco turned and followed, looking into the room he was honestly trying to escape and i t was just as ethereal looking as  the day before when he found Ace there , with the wall of glass windows that bathed everything with light. Marco  could almost feel Sanji’s eyes on him as he glanced at the   before he closed the door and turned his attention to Sanji.

“I know this commission was unexpected and the deadline is abrupt, so I’ve made a theme plan with that in mind,” Marco started, walking towards the small desk cluttered with papers.  Everything seemed to always be cluttered with papers in that room, no matter what he did. “Most of the pieces required are works similar to ones you already painted in the past so the preparation for those should be easier.” 

Sanji took off his hat as he listened,  looking like his  mind was already sifting through paints he had made through the years.  It was easy to see the news were good for him, just as Marco expected it would be .

“You are to paint the chapel walls and ceiling with scenes from the Old Testament with the expulsion from the garden of Eden as the centrepiece. The others are themes from mythology,” Marco spoke as he rifled through some papers, looking for the list he was supposed to give to Sanji. Not a moment later, he finally found what he was looking for, handing the paper to Sanji. 

“The list is not short, but there are only few pieces that require some serious thought. The biggest wall paintings are the landscapes of your design for the dining room and young master Portgas’ chambers, the illusion ceiling painting** for the entryway, and the landscape of Venice for the parlour. The painting of Danae is for the wall in the master bed chambers, and the rest are for his  _ studiolo _ .” Marco listed everything as Sanji read the same words on the paper, though detailed information was scarce. 

Marco knew Sanji had already painted all of the mythological themes before,  but that didn’t change how macabre they were, especially for someone’s study . Still, Perseus saving Andromeda from the monster was one of Marco’s favorites, as well as the second scene on the list, that of Prometheus; even if he liked the story of Prometheus bringing fire to mankind better than the scene of his punishment that Sanji would have to paint. 

The myth of Sisyphus was just as odd a choice for a wall painting, and  Marco could see  Sanji shiver  a little, obviously trying to process the information . Scenes of death and torture were hardly common practice for a  _ studiolo _ , a room where Roger would hold meetings and no doubt frighten those that entered that room all the more with these images. The rape of Europa was last on the list, marked as the biggest piece for this room  and Marco had no idea how he felt about it, even as used to Roger as he was .

Sanji looked up from the paper and glanced at Marco,  the shock obvious on his face. Marco had nothing to offer but a smile that was hopefully reassuring. There wasn’t much he could do about it, anyway.

“If it helps, the young master prefers depictions of the sea over those of land,” he said, not voicing his understanding of Sanji’s terror. Only a heartless man would surround himself with images of violence and torture like this, yet there was no choice for Sanji in the matter. The myths and stories he once enjoyed reading as research for his art all those years ago, using Marco’s books no less, were now most likely tainted by fear of what might happen to him should he fail in this commission.  Marco could almost read those thoughts just by looking at Sanji’s face, remembering how he’d felt the same back when he first started working for the Portgas family. 

Sanji nodded absentmindedly at the words Marco offered, accepting them for the comfort they are,  while seemingly lost in thought. Marco couldn’t blame him seeing as this was a lot to process at once .

His thoughts were cut short by a forceful knock at the door before it opened, Haruta’s frazzled head peeking through the crack. 

“ _ Maestro _ , your model for the David is here,” he said , as if he had no idea who Ace was .  Ace managed to somehow keep his identity a secret the day before, but Haruta wasn’t an idiot.

“Give us a moment, we are done with our meeting,” Marco said, and Haruta left the room with a nod, once again closing the door as Marco continued. “Well, you would do better to go home and start preparing. Most of the commissioned pieces are fairly straightforward, but should you need help, don’t hesitate to visit me. I will send an assistant with information about our travel arrangements.”

“I will see you soon, then,” Sanji said, shaking Marco’s hand before he placed the hat back on his head and made his way to the door. “Good day,” he added with a smile before opening the door. 

Marco’s reply died down in his throat when he looked out into the workshop and locked eyes with Ace. Haruta announced him and yet it still came as a shock when their eyes met. It was somehow more intense now, after how they’d spent the previous day, and Marco had to clench his hand at his side to stop himself from reaching out to touch. Getting to touch him once opened the floodgates and all Marco wanted to do was touch again. 

If Sanji noticed anything was off about him, he didn’t mention it, save for a concerned look Marco chose to ignore earlier. Not a moment later, Ace averted his gaze and fixed it on Sanji. The look on his face changed immediately, only subtly, but enough for Marco to notice. Not enough for him to recognize what the feeling on display was, however. 

Sanji only spared him a glance, though, before he left the workshop altogether, and Marco was left staring at Ace through the bustle of the workshop. It was perhaps better than Ace coming closer until they were in Marco’s studio alone again and the temptation only intensified. 

Neither of them had to say much, beyond a greeting that Marco knew was too stilted on his part. Marco hurried to close the door then move as far from Ace as was possible in a room that size, sorting through papers he rifled through earlier in an attempt at prolonging the moment where he didn’t have to look at Ace and fight with himself. 

It was becoming slightly worrisome, though, when he heard nothing from Ace for a moment too long. He was never silent, unless he was up to something, and Marco cursed himself for forgetting that.

With a sense of dread, Marco turned around, unable to mask the sharp inhale at the sight of Ace, completely nude and more confident about it that the day before, his hands buried in his hair as he looked straight at Marco. 

“We should get started, no?” he asked all too innocently, and Marco feared Ace could see right through him right then, when he was doing his best to stay where he was instead of rushing forward to bury his hands into Ace’s hair as well. 

“Yes,” he said instead, through gritted teeth, “we should.”

He had so much work to do in that single afternoon, including measuring the marble and picking a pose for the sculpture, but all he could do was pick up some more paper and charcoal to draw Ace again, while he still had a chance to look without being judged.

* * *

The sound of waves crashing against the hull of the ship was a soothing presence wrapped around the ship and the bustle of preparing to enter the Venetian port. All sailors were at their posts, rapidly pulling in the sails as they approached the harbor. These moments before the ship stilled and the anchor was dropped were Thatch’s favorite, even if they were the most hectic time onboard their grand merchant vessel. 

The Moby Dick was his home, every sailor onboard closer than his real family with old man Newgate far better in the role of father than the one Thatch was born to, but that did nothing to change the fact they were all stuck on that ship together for far too long without setting foot on dry land. Finally getting shore leave in a port like Venice seemed like a dream come true, especially during the carnival. Thatch had heard stories about the carnival and how it transformed an already fascinating city into something more, but he had yet to participate or even fully enjoy what the city itself had to offer. The last time they came to Venice was months ago during summertime, with the sweltering heat that was unforgiving on travellers not used to such weather as well as the canals running through the city instead of streets. The stench was not something he had expected, but it became all too clear to him why the city’s wealthy citizens escaped to the countryside when the temperature rose. 

This time, though, he could breathe fresh air, a salty scent of the sea carried through the streets on the wind that still rocked their ship as they finally docked. Thatch was ready to jump out and go into town for the freedom he longed for these past weeks out in the open sea, but managed to restrain himself until the captain came out on deck. His excitement was almost palpable, but Thatch waited to be dismissed properly, reveling in the knowledge that he is not one of the poor bastards still on duty for the next two weeks they would spend in Venice. 

For months now, Thatch had somewhat reluctantly worked through most of their free time in various ports, all for the goal of being absolutely free to enjoy this particular vacation of sorts in its entirety. With that in mind, the captain simply smiled at the barely contained excitement and let Thatch depart as soon as he wished. To no one’s surprise, that was barely a moment after the words left Captain Newgate’s mouth.

The first steps he took on the wooden dock were almost as sweet as the ones he had taken years ago, following in his big brother’s footsteps into freedom, far from their family. He banished thoughts of that for the moment, however, determined to focus on what lay ahead. Perhaps it was poor form on his part, seeking out a house of pleasures as soon as his feet touched solid ground, but he had been hearing so much about this particular palace hidden in the heart of Venice.

They were whispers, mostly, hushed conversations between sailors, a curious blend of satisfaction and displeasure about the ungodly amounts of money they’d found themselves parting with. Naturally, it piqued his interest, his already rampant curiosity latching onto the scant bits of information he overheard before actively seeking more. It was entertainment better than anything else he might think of while trapped in close quarters with other sailors for weeks on end. To his initial surprise, reactions to his direct questions were oddly hostile and guarded, answers of no actual value other than being told he would find nothing but trouble if he kept asking so bluntly. 

By then it was too late. The mystery was far too good to give up, and Thatch was determined to see first hand whether it was worth the trouble of getting to the heart of such a secret. Spending his hard earned money on getting his fellow sailors drunk whilst enjoying the freedom of a port town, Thatch had finally heard more. Not much, sadly, but enough to understand. All he had gotten for his trouble were drunken praises of the owner’s beauty and lamentations of how he retired not too long ago, rarely willing to deem someone worthy of taking to bed. 

Such scant information, yet it told him why there was such mystery over what had to be nothing more than a whore house; men offered their services there. Such a simple revelation, yet it brought more excitement to his search. After all, places like those were rare and well hidden, especially so at such close proximity to the Vatican. 

He hadn’t gotten much for all his trouble, and yet he knew this was a place he must find. As he wandered through the paved streets and over stone bridges of the city, Thatch kept looking for the palace with lilies painted on the shutters. The description immediately brought his brother back to mind, and his art lessons from so long ago, explaining that lilies were a symbol of purity and innocence. It made him want to meet this mysterious owner even more, what with such a delightfully ironic sense of humor.

As lost in thought as he was, Thatch was almost too late to move out of the way as a group of richly dressed men marched his way over the small bridge he was crossing. There was barely enough time for him to step aside, clutching to the stone railing for dear life as the men passed. Thatch sighed in relief, considering himself lucky that he had not been pushed over the railing and into the dirty canal water when he finally lifted his gaze. At first he almost didn’t comprehend what was before his eyes, already convinced he would not find what he had been looking for, but the white faded lily painted on a dark green shutter of a palace along the canal was unmistakable. 

It was late afternoon, and all the shutters were wide open, letting in the last rays of sunlight, all but that single one that stood closed, revealing the flower for Thatch to see. This was certainly reason enough to celebrate, something he was planning on doing in that particular place as soon as he found the entrance from dry land instead of on the canal side. Searching for a gondola would be a waste of time and money, most likely, given that he was already almost there. 

With a barely contained skip in his step, Thatch crossed the rest of the the bridge and strolled down the street next to the closest palace. He turned the corner as soon as he could, entering a narrow street and passing by the front of the same palace as he walked along from the bridge, continuing down the street until he came face to face with a double door flanked by small windows covered with dark green shutters with lilies painted on them. 

Faced with those at such close proximity, Thatch found himself slightly nervous, underdressed, unwelcome… All manner of things he wasn’t prepared to feel once faced with the unraveling of his mystery. The sense of danger was something he had expected at the prospect of walking inside, but everything other than excitement was odd. He was prepared to turn around and look for an inn or anything else, as long as it was safe, but his chance for escape was lost when one side of the massive door opened. 

He stood there on the empty darkening street, frozen by a new wave of curiosity about whoever it was that would walk out through that door. Mother always told him his curiosity would be the death of him one day, but this did not seem like that day, not yet at least, so he watched with rapt attention as a young man stepped out in front of the door, glancing up at Thatch. The long smooth hair might have been deceiving for a brief moment, but it was hard mistaking him for a woman with the way Thatch’s eye was drawn to the loose shirt that barely covered his chest. He could almost make out the goosebumps on his skin at this short distance between them. Slender hands moved to wrap the unbuttoned dark purple house coat around the exposed chest to keep the cold at bay, snapping Thatch’s attention to the man’s face, noting his small smile before meeting dark brown eyes. 

The stranger continued observing Thatch for a moment longer, the gaze keeping Thatch unable to speak from the intensity of it. He could tell he was being weighed, measured, deemed worthy or not of entering this place, and all he could do was stand there, feeling more exposed than the man before him was.

“Come inside,” the man told him before turning around, walking steadily inside without a glance towards the door as if he knew Thatch would follow. And how could he not? His own step faltered for a bare moment before he walked through the door, passing a guard that towered over him, then hurrying to catch up with the flutter of purple fabric before it got away.  

Thatch hurried through the foyer and out into the inner courtyard that lay empty with the winter chill, but he could see this was an area used in warmer weather and he couldn’t help but wish to witness that as well. Curiosity was a damned thing, really. Instead of letting his gaze wander, Thatch turned his attention to the dark hair swaying with every step his guide took towards the door at the far end of the courtyard. He didn’t bother with looking over the inner side of the palace; they all seemed to look the same with their rectangular shape and a courtyard in the middle, surrounded by rooms on all sides with pillars everywhere, carrying the upper floors, but also hiding all the doors from direct view and shielding them from direct sunlight. There was no need to look up to know he would be able to gaze at the darkening sky.

The courtyard wasn’t that big, though, and they passed it quickly, most likely in a haste to get inside where it was warm and his companion wasn’t likely to freeze. Thatch himself was far from cold, thrumming with adrenaline from finding this place at long last and because of the potential danger. After seeing the guard by the door, it became more obvious, knowing the owner was aware of the risk of owning such a place himself. 

It all became irrelevant as soon as his mysterious guide opened the door before them and led the way in. The room was by far the richest one he’d been in since leaving home years ago, and warmer in every regard, covered in shades of rich dark red and sofas of icy blue. He didn’t let his gaze linger on the few patrons he noticed scattered in the room, with beautiful women for company, while a dark haired man covered with a white shirt and an abundance of gold jewelry sat at the far end, playing a slow tune on a violin. 

As Thatch took it all in, his guide moved forward, but for once, Thatch’s attention was not on him. This place seemed more odd than he had been expecting; even with his swift glance over the other patrons, he couldn’t help but notice they were mostly sailors like himself, even recognizing some of them as men from aboard the Red Force. He had a brief moment to marvel over how the old man might react at the fact their main competitor arrived to port long ahead of them, before he let his gaze wander back to the man that guided him into room. 

He stood by a sofa far from the other patrons in the room, pouring red wine from a crystal decanter into a delicate looking glass, his attention shifting from the wine to Thatch as soon as the glass was full. Thatch didn’t need an invitation to make his way over to join the beautiful stranger, the look he received was enough to cross the room and sit on the plush sofa, leaving enough room by his side for the stranger to join him. Instead, he was handed the glass of wine.

“Why don’t I fetch a few of our ladies to join you?” the stranger asked, ready to leave as Thatch set his glass to the side without taking a sip and pouring more wine into the empty glass that sat waiting next to the decanter. He had an odd feeling he was being tested.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Thatch said with a smile, glancing up just in time to see the confusion taint the beautiful face. “I don’t have much interest in your ladies.” The way he said it was meant to convey that he was not there for the female entertainment, but the narrowing of his companion’s eyes suggested the words might have been misunderstood.

“Won’t you join me?” he added before his words could get him into trouble. “I’ve only ever heard whispers of this place, and it took me so long to find my way here. The search might be wasted effort on my part if I do not at least have the pleasure of your company for a drink. What is your name?” Thatch asked, offering the second glass of wine with a smile.

There was only a brief flash of hesitation before the wine was accepted and Thatch no longer sat alone on the sofa.

“My name is Izou,” he was told, “and what do I call you?”

“Thatch,” he said as he leaned over to grab his own glass of wine, surprised by a bout of laughter as he did so. “Does my name amuse you?” he asked, the smile on his face speaking volumes of how amused he was rather than offended. Such an odd place, indeed.

“No, forgive me, I am not laughing at your name,” Izou spoke, the amusement still lingering in his eyes. “I laugh because you are here to be served and pampered and have your every desire fulfilled, not to serve me instead.” 

The remark was enough to elicit a laugh from Thatch; he supposed Izou was right, this was a place where every patron was treated as royalty, which was, after all, the reason they would even come to this or any other such house. Yet, Thatch could not find it within himself to do anything but please the man that was currently keeping him company, nor could he imagine asking for someone else to take Izou’s place. 

“I cannot imagine anything pleasing me more than the chance to serve you,” he parried with a smirk, enjoying the laugh he was awarded with. 

“My, you are charming, aren’t you?” 

“Only when I want to be,” Thatch chuckled before sipping from his glass.

“And what could possibly make a man of your charms seek pleasure for hire?” Izou inquired, taking a sip of his own wine. His eyebrow was lifted in an inquisitive arch as he looked at Thatch, waiting for an answer. 

“The one story I managed to get out of my fellow sailors about this place was a long tale of the owner’s beauty and absolute brilliance,” Thatch said, noting the way Izou’s posture grew stiff with each word, “but I must admit, seeing this mysterious owner no longer holds my attention if I get to enjoy your company instead.” The answer must have been the right one as the discomfort visibly drained from Izou’s body, and he offered another smile, making Thatch realize that he full heartedly meant each word. 

From this point onward, making Izou laugh was more than simply satisfying, but not distracting enough not to notice the curious glances cast their way by the members of this household who entertained their own patrons. Thatch was curious, of course, as he was about everything, but he couldn’t be bothered by asking why it was so interesting, not while he made Izou smile and laugh at tales of Thatch’s adventures at sea. He found, as an hour, then two passed by, that he could do this until morning. An odd thing to do in a place like this, yet he did not mind in the slightest. All he could hope for was that Izou would allow it; Thatch held nothing but respect for Izou, despite what the popular opinion about his profession might be, but it was still a profession, and simply talking with one patron was hardly in the description of his duties. Something Izou seemed to realize as well.

“It seems I have been taking up your time for too long,” Izou said, setting his empty glass down on the small table by the sofa. “And I have still not found a companion for you for the night. Shall we take a stroll through the sitting rooms until we find someone who strikes your fancy?” Izou asked as he stood from the sofa, his gaze directed down towards Thatch, looking almost ethereal, as if he’d stepped out of a painting meant for worship.

Gently, he took Izou’s hand, his eyes never leaving Izou’s as he leaned over and pressed his lips to the back of Izou’s hand. 

“I was rather hoping that my wish to have you as company for my entire stay was obvious by now,” he spoke softly, breath ghosting over the skin of Izou’s hand, the heavy golden ring on his finger heating from the touch. “I couldn’t help but wish for the feeling to be mutual as I have greatly enjoyed your company as well as your beauty so far.”

“Spoken like a true gentlemen,” Izou remarked with a smile, his hand still resting in Thatch’s. He didn’t appear as if he was planning on moving after all, his smile broadening into a grin. “Will you compare my beauty to that of Aphrodite to win my favor?” There was mirth in his eyes, but Thatch could see that was not all Izou felt as he asked his question.

All the same, the question made Thatch laugh loudly, his grip around Izou’s hand tightening for a moment.

“I wouldn’t think of it!” he exclaimed, the mere idea purely ridiculous. Izou frowned, however, obviously confused by that answer, prompting Thatch to elaborate. “I would not dare compare you to a woman, not matter how beautiful, when you are clearly not one,” Thatch added softly, smiling up at Izou. He seemed to have been doing a lot of that this evening, it was disarming.

“What?” Izou asked weakly, obviously still confused. 

“I first thought of Patroclus*** when I saw you, truth be told,” he said, still smiling like it was impossible not to. Izou’s confusion turned into a stunned expression upon his face as he appeared not to know how to process the words Thatch spoke. It looked as if he was trying hard not to ask why, but Thatch decided to answer anyway. “It sounds silly, I know, but he is fierce and brave and worthy of royalty. That is beauty in and of itself. My brother drew him once, years ago, and oddly enough, he looked just like you.”

Izou’s eyes widened visibly, mouth opening as if to say something before he just shook his head and smiled, all traces of bewilderment now gone completely, replaced by the confident, astonishingly alluring man Thatch had been speaking to for hours now.

“Am I to call you my Achilles, then?” Izou asked, his hand grasping Thatch’s before he started pulling away, making Thatch stand up and follow. He left no time for Thatch to answer, speaking again as he slowly made his way towards the door they had entered through. “You speak more as an educated gentleman than a simple sailor. If you wanted to deceive me, you should have put more effort into your disguise.”

This made Thatch laugh again, but he did not falter in his step as he trailed behind Izou, their hands clasped together as Izou led the way. 

“I am sure you would never be deceived by the likes of me,” Thatch told him. “And I would be a fool to try, would I not?”

“Yes, you would, Achilles mine,” Izou spoke as the glanced back just enough for Thatch to see his smile. “Your brother, does he sail with you?” he asked as they left the room and stepped into the cold courtyard, Izou’s step quickening as they made for the stairs and onto the terrace of the first floor that ran along the entirety of the palace and around the courtyard. 

The question came abruptly, surprising Thatch momentarily, but he supposed he did mention it first.

“No, he left home shortly before I did, years ago, and I haven’t seen him since,” Thatch said, hoping the conversation would stop there as Izou nodded. It was clear he was about to ask more, just as they reached the single door on the side of the palace opposite the main entrance, and Izou’s hand was already pushing the handle, but Thatch knew he couldn’t possibly answer anything more without the night turning to regrets that he ought have had forgotten long ago. 

As soon as the door was open, Thatch pulled at Izou’s hand, successfully distracting him from asking another question, before raising his other hand to Izou’s cheek. He leaned in, slowly enough for Izou to push him away if he wanted to do so, pressing his lips to Izou’s once he was certain there were no objections. Breaking the kiss, but not pulling away, Thatch slipped his arms around Izou and lifted him, thankful for the fact that Izou was smaller than him, before entering the warmth of the room to stop the cold from taking its toll on either of them. He kicked the door shut, for good measure, to avoid being interrupted by anyone.

Several oil lamps cast light in the room, just enough to light the way towards the bed chamber without having to fumble around in complete darkness of the sitting room. The doors to the bedroom were wide open, and the sitting area was only a small distance to cross before he set Izou by the side of the bed, letting him sit and part his thighs, allowing Thatch to stand closer. Instead of standing, however, Thatch dropped to his knees, his hands resting on Izou’s thighs as they looked at each other in silence. 

Thatch slid his hands along Izou’s thighs until he could rest them on his hips, hidden underneath the coat Izou still wore. His gaze shifted from Izou’s eyes as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Izou’s sternum, just above the open collar of his shirt. 

“There is no possible way I am lucky enough to afford you,” Thatch whispered, however reluctantly, knowing the matter of a price would come up eventually. He would gladly give anything for this, as fascinated by Izou as he was, but it did not seem to be a possibility. How could it be? Izou was, by all accounts, perfection. He let his forehead lean against the spot he kissed as he waited for the sum that would undoubtedly consume the entire small fortune he collected in the past several months. 

Delicate fingers combed through his hair as Izou hummed for a moment, seemingly thinking about his answer.

“Stay for your entire shore leave, as payment,” Izou started suddenly, his voice soft. “You can be a guard by day and be mine each night.”

Thatch snapped his head up, Izou’s fingers still buried in his hair as he started into Izou’s eyes in shock while Izou simply smiled at him. 

“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of me paying for your services?” Thatch asked, prepared to ask more, but Izou was speaking again before he could utter another inquisitive word.  

“I haven’t taken a paying customer into my bed in years,” he said, then after a beat of silence, he added softly: “I suppose you found what you were looking for.”

At that, Thatch could only laugh in shock and sheer joy, knowing he accidentally managed to charm the one person everyone thought unattainable. He leaned up, his grip on Izou’s hips growing a bit tighter as he pressed his lips to Izou’s again. Perhaps he was lucky after all.

* * *

An afternoon spent in Ace’s company was always appreciated; he may have been hellishly distracting and set on driving Marco to the brink of madness, but he was also more brilliant than people bothered to notice. However, spending the afternoon while Ace stood nude for Marco’s scrutiny was unbearable. The only thing keeping him sane the entire time was the fact Ace took his job seriously and focused on holding still instead of trying to seduce Marco this time. Suspiciously so, perhaps. 

It was a valiant effort on Ace’s part, but the fact remained, Ace was entirely naked all the same. More times than he would like to admit, Marco found himself compelled to touch, to just say to hell with it all and give in. Seeing his control slipping like that had him worried and on edge. He managed to make more sketches and finally settled on a pose he would use for the sculpture, thus making sure Ace would spend less time naked in his studio. The block of marble Haruta had ordered for him, now standing in his studio, seemed to mock him as well, reminding him what he would be making out of it. This job was turning into his own personal hell and there was nothing he could do about it.

Having Ace so close, painfully within his reach, was torment of the cruelest kind. He was there without a care in this world, perfect and untainted by the cruelty that marred his father. The embodiment of temptation in Marco’s studio, where many had stood before in the same naked state, yet none of them had been as tantalizing. Marco would find the fascination odd, perhaps, had he found the time to do so between curbing his desires in Ace’s presence and letting them run their maddening course once he was alone. Yet, at the same time, he was not surprised by this attachment. Just thinking about it was far from simple, the memory of Ace doing this to help him rather than seduce him stirring the already muddled emotions. The one that still prevailed, though, was fear; of being caught by Roger, of giving into desire and finding that this was merely a game to Ace. This was harder to bear than having Ace naked and being unable to touch. 

It had been nearly six years since Ace started showing his affections, in attempts of varying subtlety, six long years of this torture that had pushed Marco into the bed of whichever of Izou’s courtesans were free for the evening. At least until that too became a betrayal, to his own feelings and Ace’s, if he considered them to be the same as his own. That was a hopeful thought, one he didn’t allow himself very often, knowing it would simply make matters worse for him. 

The thought of Roger finding out about Ace posing nude for a sculpture, one that would be displayed in the family palace no less, only brought fresh hell to him, adding to the already vicious torture he found himself in. He could hardly find a moment of calm, even in his own mind, these days, silently praying for the day of his departure from the city. Being away from Venice and, specifically, from Ace would undoubtedly bring him at least a small measure of peace. Sanji and his assistant would surely bring back memories of happier times. 

Still, after an afternoon of pure torture, Marco felt one night was hardly enough to recover before enduring a morning with Izou. He loved Izou like a brother, considered him his only family in Venice even after all these years, but Izou had an uncanny ability to uncover his deepest darkest secrets with just one glance, and that seemed like a dangerous thing for him after the afternoon he’d had. He was hoping for one of those rare instances when Izou was a source of calm for him. 

He was jostled out of his musings just after he rounded the corner, entering the street and making his way towards the main entrance to Izou’s palace, when a brunet man bumped into him before continuing on his way without an apology or even a glance back. For a moment he thought the man looked familiar, but it was already forgotten as he continued on his way, stepping up to the all too familiar door to knock. After all these years, he knew all the guards, and they all knew him, letting him in at any time of the day. Almost as if he lived there as well.

Marco was left to his own devices once inside, making his way towards the stairs and up to the door on the other side of the palace where Izou’s private rooms lay. He considered himself lucky, knowing not many were allowed in there and yet he could just walk in without a second thought. Sometimes it was easy for forget that Izou considered him a brother as well. 

Still, given that he did have some common courtesy, Marco knocked on the door to announce himself before opening the door and stepping into the sitting room. He heard shuffling through the open bedroom door, slightly surprised Izou was still in bed at this hour; after all, it was hardly still morning, if one was being technical. 

“Izou, it’s me,” he said from where he stood without entering the bedroom, taking off his cloak and hat instead as he waited. His surprise only grew as Izou joined him minutes later, clad in his purple housecoat and, Marco suspected, nothing underneath which wasn’t that unusual, if he was honest, but the surprising part was the disheveled state of his usually immaculate hair. 

“Good morning,” Izou said without so much as glancing at him, making his way towards the food laid out on a small table near the big windows that overlooked the canal. 

“You didn’t spend the night alone, did you?” Marco asked with a smirk, all subtlety lost years ago between the two of them. He knew just how unusual and rare of an occurrence this was. “And I thought you were growing too old for that.”

Izou finally turned to look at him, leveling him with a glare that would make lesser men crumble. “You are still older than me,” he said as he took a seat by the table, motioning for Marco to join him. “And no, I did not sleep alone. It was lovely, you should try it. Speaking of which, Red is in town.”

Marco snorted as he sat opposite Izou, leaning in the armchair as he waited for Izou to make eye contact, speaking only when that happened. “So is Benn, in case you forget, and I am not eager to get in the middle of that, thank you.”

“Hm…” Izou hummed, face betraying amusement and the deviousness Marco knew was hidden inside Izou all along, despite the innocent front he displayed in front of most people. “I would suggest someone else, but you’ve never been prone to taking my advice on this matter,” he added, face going from mischievous to slightly sad for a moment, and Marco knew Izou meant the whole continuous situation with Ace. It was really not a matter he wanted to discuss, waving off the statement with his hand as if it were that simple. Oddly enough, Izou allowed it this time, letting the subject drop for once.

“So will you show me what I’m meant to wear to carnival or are you planning on keeping me in the dark for longer?” Marco asked, changing the subject to the reason he came to see Izou in the first place. These days, Marco was no longer as thrilled with the carnival and therefore did not bother with having a costume made; something Izou took upon himself each year, always providing the best costume made of the finest materials money could buy. If the clothes and masks weren’t the masterpieces they were each and every time, he would have long since put an end to this tradition they had.

The question seemed to remind Izou of the purpose of this visit as well, and his face broke into a grin even Marco couldn’t help but notice was absolutely mesmerizing. In moments like these, he couldn’t help but remember Izou as he was when they had met. He didn’t let himself dwell on this, however, as Izou jumped out of his chair and hurried back into his room, the purple fabric of his coat fluttering around him.

“I think you’ll love this one!” he exclaimed somewhere from the depth of the bedroom, partially hidden by darkness created by dark drapes covering the windows. “It is certainly my favorite so far,” he added as he made his way back to the sitting room that was bathed in sunlight streaming from the big uncovered windows, carrying a distressingly large canvas bag and an ornate wooden box Marco recognized as one of Franky’s. 

Marco moved the food to one side of the table, clearing enough space for the box as Izou set the bag down over the back of his chair. After being submitted to several of Izou’s games of dressing up, Marco held a healthy dose of fear of seeing what lay inside the bag, though the admission would never be pried from him; he was a grown man and clothes did not scare him, not even when thought out by Izou.

“Brook was once again very happy to let me work with him on the costume, but the mask is entirely Franky’s design,” Izou told him as he unfastened the small ties along the length of the bag, revealing shades of blue and light green. The color choices alarmed Marco slightly, but he knew it was wise not to comment before the entire thing was revealed. Or ever, for that matter. 

He waited patiently as Izou opened the bag and started taking clothing items out of it. So far, it seemed oddly simple, but beautiful; simple hose in a subdued golden color, followed by a silk basic shirt in a light royal blue color, and a darker blue doublet with thin feather shaped decorative pins for the sleeves. Marco felt satisfied so far, but confused because this could not be his entire costume. Izou never did these things half heartedly, and no matter how expensive these items were, they were not intricate enough for a carnival costume for Izou’s tastes. 

“I imagine I don’t need to explain these to you,” Izou said, gesturing to the items he already took out of the bag. “And these are what make the actual costume,” he continued as he revealed a long piece of velvet in dark blue, a layer of sheer light blue lace attached to its surface with an intricate embroidery shaped like peacock feathers in shades of blue and green. This was followed with another piece of the same fabric, laid out over everything else before Izou explained. “These will be attached to your shoulders and between your shoulder blades with these golden pins so it appears you have wings,” he spoke excitedly, and Marco could see why that was, seeing as this costume was a work of art.

“As for the mask…” Izou said, pushing the box closer to Marco, indicating he should open it, barely containing his excitement as he waited for Marco to do so. 

Marco lifted the lid and could only stare in astonishment, as always when faced with the work of a craftsman as skilled as Franky was. The mask looking back at him was in the color of rich aged gold with a nose piece long enough to resemble a beak and pearl frame eye holes. It was his favorite type of mask, one that left the bottom of his face exposed instead of covering him entirely, but this one had a headpiece attached made of peacock feathers long enough to cover the top of his head and reach down to the high collar at the nape of his neck. 

“Am I meant to be a bird?” Marco said with a chuckle, still astonished by the craftsmanship of the entire ensemble. 

“You, my friend, are meant to be a phoenix,” Izou told him with a self satisfied grin, clearly proud of himself for thinking of this. “Do you like it?” he asked a moment later, his expression revealing that he was very aware that Marco did, indeed, like the costume. After all, how could he not? As an artist, he did have a healthy appreciation for all things beautiful. 

“You know I do, you just want me to say it out loud,” Marco teased. “Thank you, Izou. Where is your costume?”

Izou grinned even wider, baffling Marco for a moment with the intensity of it. 

“Mine is not finished yet, but I suspect you might like it,” he said before he moved towards his writing desk and took a small, simple frame that lay on top of it. “I was inspired by your drawing, though I cannot explain how this never crossed my mind before,” he added as he walked back, offering the frame to Marco when he came close enough. 

Marco immediately recognized the drawing in question, one of the first works he had made when he’d just realized he wanted to be an artist. Years ago, shortly before he left home. It was bittersweet, thinking about that, and Izou seemed to know. How could he not, after all, Marco told him the story of why he’d left. 

“Do you ever miss home?” Izou asked as he started putting the costume back in the bag it was stored in. 

“Venice is my home,” Marco replied on instinct, even though Venice hadn’t felt like home for a while now, no matter how comfortable he had gotten here. The absence of something to keep him there was painfully obvious.

“And your family? You never spoke of them, except your father.” 

The question prompted a sad excuse for a smile. It was true, he rarely spoke of his family, what with the hate he still harboured for his father and the regret over leaving everyone else behind.

“I miss my younger brother, though I suspect he doesn’t consider me his brother anymore,” he said sadly, still carrying the guilt of the two of them not leaving together. “I left him there at the mercy of our father and our older brother, after all. What kind of brother would do that?” he asked, though there was no actual need for an answer. 

“You were young,” Izou said simply, and Marco knew what that meant. He had been young, barely eighteen, when he walked out of his father’s house with what few possessions he had and in no way capable of supporting himself, let alone someone else. With their father, at least, Thatch would have a roof over his head and the prospect of inheriting everything should something happen to their older brother. Foolish hopes, typical for someone who was still basically a child. 

“What became of your brother?” Izou asked after a beat of silence. 

“I don’t know,” Marco told him. “I haven’t spoken to him since.” He didn’t continue, keeping his gaze on the drawing in his hands as he mulled over the past. There was no sense in it, after all, it had been fourteen years since it happened and it should not matter anymore. Yet somehow it did, oddly enough. 

“Why don’t I get dressed, and we can take a stroll down to Bentham’s theater? I’m in need of Greek armour, it seems,” Izou suddenly said with forced cheer, and Marco smiled at the thinly veiled change of subject. 

“Let’s,” he said in reply, accepting the offer as the distraction it was without a second thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * means sacred conversation which is a type of painting specific for venice, what's on the painting itself isn't important for this, i just wanted it for the title  
> * * paintings that give the illusion of actual decorations, in this case a ceiling, which could depict a dome or a hole in the ceiling that shows the sky and angels looking down into the room as was usual for paintings like this  
> * * * patroclus was a brother in arms of achilles and i used this mostly cause authors right after the illiad was published wrote that they were also lovers cause they died in battle and their ashes were mingled together


	3. Allegory of spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allegory of spring or La Primavera is a painting by Sandro Botticelli.
> 
> This chapter has been finished for so long, I have no idea why I didn't post is so far.

If it wasn’t for Izou’s insistence, Marco probably would not have bothered with leaving his house for the carnival at all. The carnival was, after all, a young man’s game; the elaborate costumes, the endless streams of wine, and willing people at every corner. It still sounded appealing, of course, but not enough to actually do something about it until Izou coaxed him into it with an impressive costume and promises of much fun to be had. These days, Marco hardly believed those promises, even with the benefit of knowing Izou for years. 

It was hardly easy to describe what exactly changed for him to simply lose interest, but Marco could admit, in the privacy of his own thoughts, that Ace lay at the core of it all. Ace was at the core of so many of his problems, these days. Not really a new development, but one Marco tried his hardest to ignore even with Ace’s constant advances reminding him at every turn that he would slip up sooner or later.

His efforts to keep a distance between himself and Ace were all valiant and he had been doing such a good job for years, but with Ace posing for the David, Marco’s resolve was starting to crumble more rapidly. The thought of that was crushing him for days now and the only relief in sight was the journey to Verona with the hope that Ace would not follow. At the same time, the thought of Ace staying in Venice filled him with disappointment, and he could do nothing to retain even a semblance of sanity. 

Odd, how this drove him insane considering Ace would have to at least visit so the statue could be completed. Marco knew he could get by on the sketches and memory alone, but a part of him, the part that seemed to revel in the self-punishment, craved for Ace to visit just so the stay in Verona didn’t make him forget what Ace looked like. This was utterly impossible, of course, but Marco chose to ignore that fact, convincing himself that he could forget Ace if he wished it.

As soon as Izou’s palace came into view, however, Marco tried to shake off all thoughts of Ace, knowing Izou would surely notice the lingering sadness that came with them. Izou, for one, already knew too much and failed to see the reasoning behind Marco’s restraint, at least now that Ace was a grown man. For Marco, having Izou encourage him to give in to temptation would only break him faster. He was at a point where he could no longer recognize whether giving in was a good idea or not, and that was a danger in itself. Just one of the many dangers that surrounded Ace.

Wondering about it was eating away at him, enough that his thoughts still returned to Ace even after Marco repeatedly decided to forget him for the night as the doors of the palace opened to let him in. Music and laughter surrounded him instantly with a heavy fog of smoke and perfume, even as he stood alone in the entryway. Knowing full well what awaited him in the courtyard and all the surrounding rooms of the ground floor, Marco lingered for a moment longer in a futile attempt at collecting his wits enough to pretend for the night.

The costume Izou gave him worked like a charm, drawing all eyes to him as he passed through the streets earlier, and Marco knew there would be nothing stopping him from seeking company for the night. Well, nothing but his own thoughts and the image of Ace vivid before his eyes. Taking a stranger to bed while thinking of Ace was a bad idea, he knew, and yet he could hardly imagine it was so much different than the previous instances of sleeping with strangers for the sole purpose of keeping Ace out of his head. The line he was treading on was paper thin, but he could laugh at the fact that both of those options surely condemned him to hell. Marco never considered himself a religious man, not since his childhood, but he could almost feel a fire burning beneath his feet, no matter where the night would lead.

Well, it was carnival. Even if there was a God, Marco was sure He was averting His gaze from the depravity in the city.

With a self deprecating smile, Marco took a deep breath of heavy perfumed air before he opened the door and stepped into the courtyard. Laughter sounded all around him, somewhat drowning out the music playing from the far corner of the open space. Several fires burned, keeping the courtyard warm enough for people to lounge outside under the starry sky. The night was a fairly warm one as it was, truly in the spirit of the festivities. It was a good sign, starting the carnival on a warm night and for a brief moment, Marco wondered if he could be so bold as to expect something good for himself as well.

At least Izou was in good spirits, Marco noted as he glanced around, recognizing Izou a short distance away. Marco stood there in the doorway for a moment longer, observing Izou as he sat on his chaise in the middle of the courtyard, a fire next to him burning brightly, bathing him in warm light. He looked fit to rule, with a royal purple cape around his shoulders, almost hiding his costume from view, but one of the palace guards dressed as a Greek soldier by Izou’s side gave him away. The guards were always dressed to compliment Izou’s own costume, even if they wore masks and Izou himself never did.

Marco did not recognize the guard by Izou’s side. Of course, the man wore a mask to conceal his face, but his demeanor, and Izou’s, suggested to Marco that Izou had kept this mystery man around for a while already. Marco was and was not surprised at the same time. Izou could enchant any man or woman if he wished it, but to Marco’s knowledge, he never did so in the time they’d known each other.

However, this was no time to think about Izou and his reasoning for loneliness, nor his reasons for choosing this particular man after so long. Izou looked at him, somehow knowing Marco had arrived, but did nothing to move from his spot by the fire, only offering a smile in way of greeting when their eyes met. If Marco didn’t know better, he would have thought the smile an innocent one. Fortunately, he did know Izou better than that and Marco was certain there was something in store for him. Suddenly he found himself presented with the option to leave and evade whatever was coming his way or stay and let it happen the way Izou intended it.

This sudden conclusion of his was not unwarranted after so many years of surprises at carnival, mostly orchestrated by Izou in a vain attempt at helping Marco. Of course, the reason for said help shifted every time, from helping Marco meet people in an unfamiliar city to helping him take his mind off of Ace, amongst other things. All of those tended to manifest in the same way, including nude strangers and a comfortable bedroom in the palace, both before and after it came into Izou’s possession.

Marco found himself at a crossroad, the choice before him surprisingly difficult despite how certain he used to be that Izou’s ploys were ones best avoided. It was a morbid kind of curiosity that didn’t let him just leave as soon as the suspicion reared its ugly head. After all, he was interested in seeing the new and different ways Izou could still surprise him after all these years, yet at the same time, he was sure he should simply turn around and walk away. He was already on his way to convincing himself to do just that, waiting only to catch Izou’s gaze to wave goodbye before departing. Thinking of it later, he would know he had almost been saved by walking away.

A shimmer of light caught his eye, something odd reflecting the fire’s light that drew his gaze to one of the open doors to his right and in an instant, his heart dropped. For a moment, it was difficult to say why precisely, even if something inside Marco simply  _ knew _ . He was staring at the sun or rather, an earthly depiction of it in all its golden glory.

He was staring at  _ his _ sun, and no one else seemed to notice either of them.

Even covered in a seemingly endless cape made of gold thread, his face obscured by a mask shaped as the glowing sun itself, Marco could recognize the man hiding underneath it all. From the proud posture to the way he walked with determination towards where Marco stood, still stunned into breathless shock, he could recognize Ace even before he came close enough for Marco to see his eyes and confirm what he had already known. He would recognize those eyes in a heartbeat, dark and full of fire every time they were directed at him.

Somehow, this was better and worse than anything Marco has come to expect from Izou and the carnival, leaving him surprised either way. Still, he hadn’t moved a muscle since his eyes fell on the gold of Ace’s costume, not even when Ace stood right before him, just as silent in the mess of joyous sounds all around them. He lifted one of his gold covered hands slowly, eyes never straying from Marco’s as his fingers touched the uncovered side of Marco’s face, just under the beak of his mask. The feeling of a silk covered thumb tracing his lower lip made Marco shiver, both from anticipation and barely contained urge to run from Ace once again.

“Will you come with me?” Ace asked, voice muffled under his mask and barely heard over the noise surrounding them. “Please,” he pleaded, unlike any other attempt at seducing Marco he’d made before. It was exactly for that reason that Marco gave in, his heart slowing to it’s normal pace for the moment as he took a deep breath and nodded in reply, ever so slightly leaning into the touch of Ace’s hand. It was the calm before the storm, one he had been expecting for quite some time, and he’d finally given in to it’s inevitable destruction.

All too soon, Ace pulled away, removing his hand and leaving nothing but a trace of warmth behind, walking backwards until he was certain that Marco intended to follow towards the staircase off to the side. They were departing into a darker corner of the courtyard, away from prying eyes even if no one was paying them much attention. Other than Izou, that is, as far as Marco could imagine.

Slightly weak in the knees, Marco followed behind Ace as they climbed the stairs to the first floor where the most luxurious bedrooms stood, only several other than Izou’s own. Marco hadn’t been in every room in this palace, but he knew most of the residents had more modest quarters of their own on the second floor. Strange how his mind strayed to that thought as Ace made his way past several doors, only stopping when they’d reached the last door on that side of the palace.

Ace was quick in retrieving an ornamented key from somewhere under the shimmering gold fabric draped over him, but it didn’t escape Marco’s notice that Ace’s hand shook slightly as he unlocked the door. Whether it was from nervousness or anticipation, he could hardly say, but he recognized this moment as the last opportunity to escape. It would be too late, even if he succeeded in getting away; he had already given in to Ace, and it was a matter of time before he did it again, something Ace would know as well.

This line of reasoning was an unusual one, but Marco was just so tired of fighting what he wanted. And what he wanted stood in front of him, holding the door to the room open, waiting for Marco to walk into the room.

So he did.

The room was almost completely dark, the only light cast by the fire crackling in the fireplace. Warmth was spreading through him, and the calm he felt was starting to drain, his heartbeat almost deafening, resounding in time with every step Ace took behind him. Marco heard the scrape of the key in the lock once more, and the calm disappeared completely, his heart speeding up at last because he would not be turning away from this. His hand shook as he reached for his mask, fingers sliding through the soft feathers as he untied the string holding it in place before gently setting the mask down on the nearest chair.

The click of the lock sounded, and Marco turned, just in time to see Ace do the same. Ace was still wearing his mask, hand clenched tightly around the doorknob as he stared, looking at Marco approach him by the door. Ace was completely still, his face hidden behind that mask, reflecting some of the fire’s light as Marco came close to touch. Even with the fire, the room was too dark for him to see Ace’s eyes, but the eyes wouldn’t have been enough anyway, he had to see Ace’s face.

Marco moved until he could feel the heat radiating from Ace’s body, and Ace leaned his back against the door. The beating of Marco’s heart seemed too loud all of a sudden, as he lifted a trembling hand, slowly slipping it under Ace’s chin, smoothing over his skin until his fingers tangled into soft hair hidden under the mask’s hood. He lifted his other hand, gently gripping one of the rays of the mask before his fingers reached for the soft ribbon tangled in Ace’s hair at the back of his head, undoing it swiftly until he could pull the mask away. Ace let out a shaky breath as soon as his face was revealed, but he did nothing to touch Marco and, after all that Ace had done in an attempt at seduction through the years, Marco found it oddly poetic that the first move was on him.

It was surprisingly easy to tighten his grip in Ace’s hair and lean in, eyes never wavering from Ace’s, not even when their lips met, and Ace hummed before winding his arms around Marco, holding him as close as possible. The heat of Ace's mouth was almost unbearable, but Marco was too far gone, his lips sliding against Ace's in a manner probably too hurried to enjoy properly. 

There was nothing else in that moment but the two of them, and Marco felt himself break, all the years of refusing Ace’s advances and fear of the consequences wearing on him until he found himself kissing Ace, feeling like an open wound. All his avoidance and denial brought him to this point, and he could no longer bring himself to think of everything that could, and undoubtedly would, go wrong from this point.

That did nothing to make him stop kissing Ace, however, not now that he finally could. And he would savor it too, not knowing how long he’d be allowed this privilege. Ace’s lips grew warmer the longer they stayed as they were, losing the touch of winter air from their stay in the courtyard. The grip Ace had on Marco’s clothes didn’t falter as the cold did, however, making Marco regret not having put down the intricate mask as soon as he removed it from Ace’s face. He wasn’t keen on dropping it, knowing it was a piece of art, but it was keeping his hand busy with something less important than holding Ace.

As if knowing Marco’s thoughts all along, Ace pulled back just enough to stop the kiss, but did nothing to push Marco away. Their eyes met for a brief charged moment before Ace’s gloved hand released its grip and slid down Marco arm until his fingers gripped the mask as well. He pulled gently until Marco let go, eyes never leaving Ace’s face even though Ace looked away. The way the corners of his mouth quirked up let Marco know Ace hadn’t changed his mind, even before he looked up again, staring straight into Marco’s eyes as he slid out from between Marco and the door, taking the mask with him.

Marco didn’t let Ace out of his sight, turning in place to keep the eye contact until the moment Ace smiled and turned his gaze towards the table he was approaching, setting his own mask down next to Marco’s. For some reason, the sight warmed something inside him, his lips stretching into a smile of their own accord as soon as Ace lifted his hand to stroke the feathers on Marco’s mask with the tips of his fingers. He repeated the motion several times, the yellow of his gloves in contrast with the blue feathers, even in the dim light of the room. This was perhaps an odd time to wish he had his paints on hand, something he hadn’t really wished for in years, but he couldn’t help it.

The thought surprised him enough to turn his attention back to Ace rather than think of painting, knowing he could ask Ace to pose for him should the mood strike again. At least he hoped there would be an opportunity to ask. That was what spurred him into motion, unbuttoning his doublet as he walked up behind Ace. It didn’t escape Marco’s notice how Ace’s hand stilled as soon as Marco stood right behind him with barely any space between them to speak of, but he did nothing to put any distance between them. He only tilted his head back, letting it rest on Marco’s shoulder as he looked up at Marco with the usual mischief in his eyes.

Ace was so warm, leaning back against Marco’s chest, still wearing far too much. Other than leaning back, Ace made no other attempt to move or touch Marco, leaving things once again in Marco’s hands. That suited him just fine, reaching around Ace to trace the brass clasps holding the golden cape around Ace’s shoulders. As soon as he touched the warm metal, Ace’s eyes closed with a flutter, his body relaxing against Marco. It was grounding, Ace trusting him enough to let go like this and let Marco take the lead for the time being. 

So instead of removing the cape as he’d planned, Marco let his hands slide down Ace’s chest, knowing his touch would feel like nothing more than teasing pressure through all the layers of fabric between them. Still, Ace gasped at the touch, melting against Marco as his fingers trailed down Ace’s chest, stopping just as he reached Ace’s hips. The gasp turned into a whine as soon as Marco trailed a path back up, the touch going past the clasps and continuing on to touch the skin of Ace’s throat, smooth and so hot to the touch.

Just as swiftly, his fingers returned to the fabric of Ace’s doublet, this time to undo one button at a time, revealing Ace’s collarbones and the thin white shirt hiding underneath, same as the one he’d worn when Marco found him in his studio. He continued down until all buttons were undone and Ace’s chest was all but bare, heaving with every ragged breath he took.

“Take it off,” Marco whispered into Ace’s ear, even though whispering wasn’t necessary. As Ace’s hands reached for the brass clasps of the cape, however, Marco caught them, stopping Ace from moving further. It made Ace open his eyes and look up with slight confusion, but still breathing heavy.

“Not that,” Marco said, releasing Ace’s hands to return them to Ace’s chest, brushing his fingers against the embroidered fabric of Ace’s unbuttoned doublet. “This,” he whispered as an afterthought, making absolutely clear what he meant.

Ace immediately slid down the doublet down his shoulders, separating from Marco only enough to let it fall to the ground as if it wasn’t worth a fortune in itself, but his movements showed no hurry or impatience. Ace remained composed as ever, smiling sweetly at Marco before leaning back, his eyes closing once again.

There was nothing but the thin sheer fabric of Ace’s shirt between his chest and Marco’s fingers, if he let his hands reach underneath the golden cape still heavy between them. It maybe have been impractical to a degree, but Marco didn’t want it gone just yet, impatient to see Ace spread out on the bed surrounded by nothing but gold, bathed in light from the fire. If this was meant to last for only a single night, Marco wanted the image to remain with him for as long as possible.

Marco’s hands slid down again, fingers tangling in the fastenings of Ace’s hose before he pulled, undoing them in one swift motion, stopping himself from going further if Ace thought this was too much. Ace’s hands were quick to grasp Marco’s where they were still holding onto the sturdy leather string, keeping them there as he leaned back further, as much as that was possible, into Marco’s arms. They stood like that for a moment with nothing but the sound of fire crackling and Ace’s heavy breathing filling the air, but Marco could barely hear any of it with the sound of his own heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears.

“This is not fair,” Ace said, opening his eyes to stare at Marco, revealing how wide his pupils were. “You look and you touch while I cannot do either.” Even as he spoke, Ace’s lips formed a smile showing he wasn’t as put out as his words might have suggested. Still, Marco smiled apologetically, pressing his lips to the side of Ace’s head.

“Forgive me for being selfish,” he murmured with a bit of hope that Ace wouldn’t hear, “but I’ve been taunted so mercilessly for so long, I’m afraid I can’t help myself now.” Ace’s hair tickled his nose, but at the same time it proved that this was all real and he hadn’t simply started imagining things.

“Don’t hold back,” Ace told him, grip tightening on Marco’s hands to keep them where they were, resting on his crotch. There was no way Marco could miss how hard Ace was. “But let me kiss you again.”

It wasn’t a request Marco wanted to even think of refusing, not when everything was offered so freely. He dropped another kiss to Ace’s hair, then beckoned him to turn around because Ace was still holding on to his hands, keeping him from moving, but he could wait for Ace to turn on his own, tangling his hands into his hair once again as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Just as he pressed his lips against Ace’s as soon as he could, arm winding around Marco’s neck.

Kissing Ace was a rush yet at the same time it brought his heartbeat to a normal thudding, no longer threatening to deafen him with the force of it. Saying it was divine might have been sacrilege, but so was everything they were doing, was it not? Marco couldn’t find it in himself to care, not now that he knew what Ace felt like.

But he was being offered more than a kiss, more than a touch. It felt like he was being offered everything and, unless Ace changed his mind, Marco wasn’t about to refuse any of it. He stepped forward, urging Ace to move backwards towards the bed without having to stop kissing Ace to be able to speak with more than his actions. There was no need for that, not when Ace followed without hesitation. The room was small enough that they reached the bed in just a few short steps.

Marco broke the kiss only then, doing nothing to remove his hands from Ace’s hair or put any semblance of distance between them.

“Let me help you,” Marco said against Ace’s lips, smiling at the confused furrow of Ace’s brow that lasted for a brief moment before Marco slid his hands under Ace’s ass, lifting him up with his fingers clenched around a fistful of heavy golden fabric. Marco wasn’t entirely sure why he liked Ace in that cape, but he was certain the sight would be worth the trouble. It was easy to brace his knee on the bed and lower Ace onto the soft covers after that, letting the gold fan around him. He followed for the moment, kissing Ace once again because he could, and he could also move lower with his lips pressed against Ace’s neck.

He could only follow a path down Ace’s body from there, pressing his lips to the freckles littering the exposed length of his collarbone before avoiding the brass chain holding the clasps together to get to the middle of his chest where the exposed skin disappeared underneath the shirt. Marco’s hands were already busy pulling Ace’s unfastened hose down over his hips and lower as Ace lifted his ass off the bed. The wings of Marco’s own costume were getting in the way, the whole upper part of his attire loose after he’d unbuttoned himself earlier, but that was not very high on his list of concerns at the moment.

Even with stopping to kiss each newly exposed spot of skin, doing nothing to avoid the hardness of Ace’s cock once it’s revealed as well, Marco removed the hose and boots from Ace’s legs in almost no time at all, lifting himself off the bed as soon as Ace lay almost naked. The air around them was warm, but Marco could see goosebumps forming on the skin of Ace’s thighs. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, the sight just as captivating as he’d imagined. Perhaps even more so, with the way Ace was looking at him with a grin, unhooking the thin chain and letting the cape fall from his shoulders, allowing him to sit up. His thighs parted slightly, enough to catch Marco’s attention, but not enough to make him look away from the way Ace closed his eyes before slowly removing the shirt still partially hiding him from view. Once that was gone too, Ace leaned back again, lifting his arms above his head this time as he stretched slowly in a display of what Marco could only call sin itself.

“You still enjoy teasing me, don’t you?” Marco had to ask, words coming out slightly harsh as he removed his own doublet and let it drop to the carpet before removing his shirt and boots as well. He had Ace’s undivided attention, his eyes wide and flickering across Marco’s exposed torso, his lips parted to let his tongue slide over them as he stared.

“Perhaps I should tease you now,” he added firmly and that made Ace’s eyes seek out Marco’s own, a surprised moan leaving his lips, making Marco smile in turn. Deliberately slowly, even if he wanted nothing more than to join Ace on the bed right away, Marco walked around the bed. Ace’s eyes were still on him, following him until he reached the small side table with a silver tray filled with crystal bottles of oil. He let his fingers graze languidly over several of them, knowing Ace was impatient next to him, fingers curling in a death grip on the pillow above his head.

Finally, he picked one and didn’t reveal that he was familiar with everything Izou kept in stock so the slow show of actually choosing wasn’t necessary. But seeing Ace squirm was satisfying, even if it was a temptation he could barely make himself resist. He wanted to savor this while it lasted, but that was far from easy with the way Ace looked and with not knowing how long this would actually last.

With that thought, Marco didn’t want to tease anymore. If his time with Ace was limited, he had no intention of wasting any of it, not for something as petty as driving Ace as mad as Ace had made him through the past several years.

“Or perhaps I should show you more mercy than you’ve shown me,” he said with a smirk as he turned to the bed, setting the small bottle of almond oil next to the pillow where it was within reach, but still far enough where it wouldn’t be knocked over accidentally.

“I could have given you mercy had  _ you _ given in sooner,” Ace told him with a smirk of his own, but the effect was lost with the impatience still visible in him. It was much like the impatience building inside Marco the longer he watched until he braced his knee beside Ace, leaning over him as he placed his other knee between Ace’s bare legs.

“I shouldn’t be giving in now either,” Marco confessed with a whisper, as if it were a secret that couldn’t be spoken out loud. “You know that.”

Ace placed his hands to the sides of Marco’s neck, thumbs stroking along his jaw as he gently pulled Marco closer until Marco’s weight rested on him and the only space left between them were the scant centimeters between their lips.

“I know it was worth the wait,” Ace breathed against his lips just before pressing them together, kissing Marco with desperation and an obvious need. Marco could feel the burning of Ace’s skin beneath his chest, so warm and comforting, making him forget about the worry for the consequences. Still, he needed to ask something, breaking the contact between their lips with a gasp, still feeling Ace’s breath ghost over his lips because he couldn’t make himself move far. Just like he couldn’t keep his concerns to himself.

“But for how long? How long before you decide it’s no longer worth it?”

As simple as that, the words were out between them. Marco wasn't sure whether he should take them back, or at least try to, as he felt Ace freeze against him.

"I don't see myself ever thinking that," Ace said, pulling back just far enough to look Marco in the eye, showing that he completely believed the words he was speaking. "You're worth everything, Marco, and I will hold on to you for as long as you let me."

Marco could do nothing but stare at the earnest expression on Ace's face and his unwavering gaze, determined to make Marco understand. He couldn't even think of letting himself doubt Ace, not with the way Ace held him close as if afraid Marco might pull away if his words didn't sound sincere enough. Instead of pulling away, Marco leaned in again, sliding his lips against Ace's again. Slower this time, as his hands gripped Ace tighter, pulling him as close as possible. Ace matched his pace, holding on just as tightly, perhaps to put more weight behind his words.

"Then I won't let go either," Marco said as soon as he pulled back, just long enough to speak before he was kissing Ace again, finally completely at ease with where he was.

* * *

Without having to look, Izou knew Marco had given into temptation and followed after Ace. It had only been a matter of time and, in all honesty, Izou was glad it had finally happened. Those two deserved happiness, and what better way than finding it together? 

What held Izou’s focus, instead of watching Ace charm Marco into sin, was the way Thatch stood rigid by his side. Izou could almost feel the yearning coming off of Thatch, to speak with his brother after so many years, but this was hardly the best time. He was almost entirely certain Thatch knew it as well, given that he hadn’t moved from Izou’s side. The conversation when Izou had told Thatch about Marco living in Venice had been a difficult one and still vivid in Izou’s mind. 

Izou found it admirable, that Thatch waited rather than rushing into talking to Marco, even though he could feel Thatch relax as soon as Marco and Ace were out of sight. Sanji appeared just then as well, and Izou couldn’t help but feel excited at the surprise he’d had for him this year. Personally, he was certain he had outdone himself this time, and Zoro was the best match for Sanji he could have chosen. They were both so incredibly stubborn and unable to back down from a challenge, Izou was sure they’d have enough fun together to chase that look out of Sanji’s eyes. The one he always had before the carnival, Izou had had no need for actually seeing his face to know it was there yet again.

However, Izou had no will to think about Sanji having fun with Zoro while he himself sat there, surrounded by people he had no desire to talk to at a party he had no need to participate in. He’d been on too many of those already to enjoy them properly, and as soon as he knew both Marco and Sanji were there and his plans were unfolding as he’d imagined, Izou was no longer interested in what was going on around him. 

He must have looked as bored as he felt because Thatch leaned down, his hand stroking along Izou’s spine out of sight for anyone around them that might have been interested in observing them. Not that anyone seemed to be paying attention to them, every guest busy with the company of the men and women working for Izou. 

“You look like you’d much rather be somewhere else,” Thatch whispered into his ear. “Anywhere else.”

“But I am the host so I have to entertain my guests,” Izou said, though he knew he sounded far from convincing. It was difficult to sound convincing, after all, when Izou had absolutely no desire to actually stay in the courtyard. 

“I’d rather be the one to entertain you,” Thatch told him, his breath hot on Izou’s ear. “In private,” he added with a note of humor in his voice. It was enough to sway Izou, though he would have agreed to just about anything to get away from all the people surrounding him. He hardly regretted it, with no one paying attention as he stood, letting his heavy cape drape down before making his way towards the stairs. Thatch was close behind him, following without a single word, just like on the day they’d met.

It was funny, the way it felt like they had met years ago instead of mere days, but Izou could do nothing to help the feeling of peace Thatch woke in him. The feeling was mutual, he was sure of it, from the way Thatch’s hands wound around him before his face was buried in Izou’s hair the moment they reached the top of the stairs, out of sight to anyone in the courtyard. 

“Am I meant to walk like this or would you rather carry me the rest of the way?” Izou asked, a light laugh escaping him. Thatch turned out to be more affectionate than Izou would have pegged him, but it was difficult for him to complain when Thatch went about it in such a genuine way, offering a gentle caress where Izou had been used to demanding touches from people who acted as if they owned him. 

“I would gladly carry you to the end of the world if you wished me to.”

And then there was Thatch. Honest, kind and able to make Izou laugh, just as he had by saying that. There was laughter in his voice too as he started walking again, guiding Izou instead of picking him up. It wasn’t the easiest way to walk, but Izou only laughed, feeling younger than he had in years, even though he was still in his late twenties. 

“My bedroom will do,” Izou said through his laughter. 

He was giddy, Izou realized with a start, like he hadn’t been in far too long. Laughing came easier to him with Thatch around, and he knew everyone in the palace noticed already, even Zoro,  who wasn’t known for paying attention to such things.

“As you wish,” Thatch said cheerfully before he moved one of his hands off of Izou only to sweep him off his feet in one swift motion, eliciting a surprised laugh from Izou. 

“Would you do just about anything I ask of you?” Izou wondered out loud, slipping his arms around Thatch’s neck. “Without question or objection?”

Thatch started walking again, towards Izou’s room, silent for a moment as if pondering Izou’s question.

“Yes, I believe I would,” Thatch replied with a glance cast Izou’s way, a small smile visible on his lips.

“Why?” Izou asked, aware of just how bewildered he sounded. 

“Because I’m sure you would never ask me to do something I wouldn’t want to do of my own free will,” Thatch said, the smile still firmly in place while Izou felt his own mouth drop open, astonished at the faith Thatch seemed to have in him. 

Before he could speak, assuming he was able to think of words to say, Thatch stopped in front of the door of Izou’s room, waiting for a moment until Izou unlocked it. Thatch put him down once they were inside the room, the door safely locked behind them, only pressing a swift kiss to his lips before he turned to the dying fire in the fireplace. 

While Thatch busied himself with reviving the fire, Izou let the cloak drop from his shoulders, leaving it in the middle of the sitting room as he made his way through the bedroom door, already working on removing the costume armor from his chest. He removed the sandals too, briefly wondering what he was thinking, using sandals in this weather. There was a lot of regret about letting himself be persuaded to wear a costume as accurate as possible, which included wearing sandals and a tunic with nothing underneath. 

Izou stood in his bedroom, relishing the warmth that remained even after the fire had started to die out, as he removed the pins from his hair, letting it fall down his back. Now that he was warm, wearing nothing but the plain white tunic was comfortable. It may have been the warmth or the fact he was no longer surrounded by people, finally in the comfort of his private space. 

Thatch’s hands, warm and gentle, appeared suddenly on Izou’s shoulders, making him startle at first, before he remembered who he was with. He said nothing while those hands moved his hair carefully, combing it over one of his shoulders until his shoulders and upper back were exposed to Thatch’s gaze. Izou knew what Thatch was doing and what he was looking at, but he stayed silent, waiting for Thatch to speak. 

He wasn’t eager to talk about it, no matter how long ago it all was, but perhaps it was unavoidable when Thatch’s fingers trailed along the longest scar peeking out of the top of his tunic all the way to the base of his neck. His touch was featherlight, soothing even, in the face of the memories those scars carried.

“Will you ever tell me who it was that hurt you?” Thatch asked softly, and Izou founding himself aching to tell him, all of a sudden, because of the sad way he posed the question, as if hurting just by looking at the scars that had healed over long ago.

“The former master of this palace was a man much crueler than I am,” was what Izou said instead, “with less care for his employees and how we were treated.”

To say the sound Thatch made was wounded might perhaps be putting it mildly, but his words came out more angry than sad.

“Is he alive?” he asked as his arms came around Izou, strong and safe and everything he never felt from the men he had to entertain. 

“No,” Izou said, hating how cold and hard his voice sounded, “I took care of him.” 

This was the moment where he expected Thatch to pull away and leave, knowing now what Izou had done and just how tainted he was. To his utmost surprise, though, Thatch only held him tighter.

“Good,” he said with so much conviction that Izou couldn’t help but let out a laugh, shaky and hysterical sounding, reflecting the disbelief that Thatch couldn’t be swayed by this. He turned in Thatch’s arms, until they were pressed together almost from head to toe, their noses a hair’s breadth apart.

“How are you real?” Izou asked what he had been thinking since they’d met, unable to fathom how he had gotten so lucky to have Thatch with him. “How is it possible that you are this,” he paused, unable to think of an appropriate word to describe Thatch until he settled for one that fit, but still didn’t do him justice, “good?”

It was a completely valid question, one Izou had struggled with for several days now because there was no way Thatch was real and not something Izou’s mind conjured after so many years of isolating himself from human contact. He came into a brothel and spent hours talking to Izou instead of seeking entertainment, treating Izou with more respect and affection that he’d ever seen from a man who was looking for pleasure for hire. 

And yet here they were.

“I could ask you the same question,” Thatch told him, nothing but admiration in his eyes, “as I’ve been wondering what it was I did to get this lucky.”

It was a moment too heavy between them, filled with a tension in the air that reflected just how deep Izou had fallen in a matter of days, for a man that would have to leave him in just barely longer than the incredibly short time they’d known each other. Izou’s past was between them now as well, as ugly as it may be, and he felt he might buckle under that pressure and the weight of both the past and the future he couldn’t stop thinking about. 

“I believe you promised me entertainment,” Izou said instead, changing the subject before the weight got too heavy and he wasted precious time they had together.

Thatch laughed at the words, happily enough that it brought a smile to Izou’s face as well before he found himself being led to the bed with gentle hands and gentle lips pressing against his and, surely, he was allowed to not think about what waited for them now that he could enjoy the time they still had left, no matter how painfully short it may be.


End file.
